


Last Night for a Table for Two

by RoseByAnyOtherName17



Series: The Lion, the Wolf and the Dragon [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Homecoming, North, Reunions, Winterfell, mentions of characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-19 23:53:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9466247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseByAnyOtherName17/pseuds/RoseByAnyOtherName17
Summary: Sansa found it too difficult to sleep some nights, unable to shake the memories of Ramsey and what he did to her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For those who are reading, enjoy :)
> 
> Title from the song by Mayday Parade

“Are you alright?”

 

Sansa raised her eyes to Jon as he stepped into the light of the torch in her hand. It was so quiet down here, the sound of his approach was deadened and she hadn’t known he was there until he spoke. It was fitting, she thought. Nothing could overcome the screaming silence of the dead.

 

“What if it’s just you and me left?” she said quietly. “Mother, Father, Rickon, Robb…they’re all gone. What if Arya and Bran are as well? What will we do?”

 

“Do you remember when Arya used to throw snowballs at you when she was upset?” Jon stood next to Sansa, gazing at the grave that now held their littlest brother. “Even if you weren’t the reason, annoying you was the only way she seemed to feel better.”

 

“Only if you weren’t there.” Sansa smiled. “You made her that sword, didn’t you?” She glanced over at him. “The one she called Needle?”

 

“I had it done for her, yes.” Jon smiled back and shook his head.

 

“I thought she would like the same things I liked,” Sansa said. “I thought we could drink tea and practice our penmanship. She was supposed to look up to me and copy everything I said or did. But she wasn’t very pretty, and the first thing she said when she could speak was your name. I might have hated you a little bit for that,” she admitted. “It felt like you’d stolen her from me. You and Robb were already so close because you were the same age. I wanted her for myself and she chose you.”

 

“Maybe she did, in a way,” Jon agreed. “But you were everything she wasn’t, she knew as soon as she was old enough. The village boys all fell over themselves to get your attention, but they called her names behind her back when they thought they wouldn’t hear. She thought you were perfect, Sansa, she told me. That’s when I offered to persuade Father to let me teach her to shoot a bow. She was never meant to be a lady, not when she felt that she would never measure up to you and your mother.”

 

“Do you think she’s still out there?” Her eyes were shining with tears in the torchlight, she knew, but this was Jon. For all that she had looked down on him as children, he was her family. He had always been her family, she had known it as soon as she saw him at Castle Black. He was a bastard, but he was her brother, and for all that she couldn’t allow herself to wear her emotions on her face around anyone else, she could with Jon.

 

Jon nodded. “Arya’s strong. She’s fierce, she got what she wanted by sheer will alone at times. If she decided to live, then she lived.”

  
“And Bran?”

 

He said nothing, and she knew what he meant. Crippled boys couldn’t last long on their own without help. Not for the first time, Sansa wished she could go back and never leave Winterfell. She would be better to Arya, teach Rickon his letters with her mother. She would listen to Maester Luwin when he tried to teach her to run a household (for all that Arya insisted she wouldn’t be anyone’s lady wife, she had excelled at that). She would listen to her father and Robb as they discussed hypothetical battle strategies. She would be kind to Jon Snow…

 

“Do you suppose the Lannisters will declare war on us when word gets to them?” They were in the main hall when Jon spoke again, and the words took Sansa by surprise. “The Starks ruling the North again…they won’t like that.”

 

“If they open their eyes, they may realize that we aren’t the real threat,” Sansa said. “Not if what you say about the White Walkers is true. They are much worse than a bastard boy and the escaped Stark girl.” She looked back at him. “And they would be stupid to declare war on us. We have the whole of the Vale on our side now.”

 

“Are you certain that Lord Baelish won’t betray us?”

 

“No,” Sansa replied bluntly. “But if he knows what’s good for him, he won’t dare. He gave me to the Boltons, he did nothing to help me escape, and he only brought help in the hopes that I would agree to marry him. I would have him killed now, if he weren’t so important. But the moment he turns against you or me or any of the North…” She looked away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t talk like that.”

 

Jon smiled. “Always the lady,” he teased, but he turned serious in the next moment. “Father always said that the man who gives the command should carry out the execution himself. I could do that for you, if it came to that.”

 

“Hopefully it won’t,” she said softly.

 

They didn’t speak of it again.

 

**

  
Sansa found it difficult to sleep some nights. She burned the wedding dress that Ramsey had ripped from her body that first night, got rid of everything that reminded her of him, but nothing could wipe the phantom of his hands on her. When it became too much, lying there in the dark, she would wrap herself in her cloak and walk the halls, thinking instead of how her mother would braid her hair, how Arya and Bran would lie in wait and then pelt her with snow until she was breathless with laughter. She was hardly the only one awake, but something in her face must have kept anyone from speaking to her. It left her feeling terribly lonely.

 

It was on one of these nights that Tormund Giantsbane joined her on the battlements of the wall surrounding the keep. “You wander at night a lot, Milady,” he said gruffly, almost in question. “When d’you sleep?”

 

“I sleep enough to get by,” Sansa responded quietly. The snow shone under the moonlight. “But the dreams…”

 

“You’ve been through bad things,” Tormund said. “We all have. I imagine that most everyone here has a hard time sleeping.”

 

“How much do you know?” Sansa asked. “About—about what happened to me?”

 

Tormund shook his head. “I guessed some, from that letter the bastard sent to the Wall.”

 

“And before?”

 

“It isn’t my place to know.” He made to walk away. “G’night, Milady.”

 

“You don’t have to leave,” Sansa said quickly, before she could stop herself. “I…I don’t mind company.”

 

Tormund slowly came back to stand next to her, looking out over the land as well. For a moment they were silent, and then he spoke again. “Your brother was with us for awhile. Did y’know that?”

 

Sansa glanced at him. “No, I didn’t.”

 

“He was spying for the Night’s Watch, ran back to them to give them information after,” Tormund went on. “There was a battle after, a lot of people died. But Jon came for us, when he realized that the Walkers were real. He brought us over the Wall, and he died for it. He died for us.”

 

“Is that why you fought for him?”

 

“We fought for him because he’s a good man,” Tormund said, “and we have a common enemy. I fought with him because he’s my friend.” He trailed off, eyes narrowed. “Forgive me, Milady, but is that a torch?”

 

At first Sansa didn’t understand. “Where?” She allowed Tormund to take her by the shoulders and gently turn her to the side, and she saw it: a faint, flickering light coming from the trees. “It’s more than one,” she said softly, as the light kept coming forward. “Is it a scouting party?”

 

Tormund opened his mouth, but as they watched, one broke away, drawing ahead of the others quickly. “Perhaps you should go inside, Milady,” Tormund murmured. “Wake your brother.”

 

But Sansa wasn’t moving. “There aren’t many,” she said distractedly. “We’ve kept watch around Winterfell, we would know if someone was moving an army here.” She swiftly glanced down the length of the parapet and spotted a guard. “Have someone wake His Grace,” she said as he came closer, also staring at the firelight as it approached.

 

“Yes, My Lady.”

 

The loner raced forward, closer and closer, until Sansa glimpsed a small figure before they threw aside the torch and urged the horse on. The moon cast a shadow behind them, and then she could make out dark, almost black hair shining in the light. “Open the gate,” she said suddenly.

 

“Milady?”

 

“Open the gate!” She left Tormund behind, gathering her cloak around her and rushing down the stairs to the yard. “The gate!” she yelled as she went, startling a guard, and never stopped until she reached it. “Open the gate!” she demanded as one of the men on the wall shouted that there was a girl approaching. She was ready to do it herself, but then at last it was slowly opening, and the horse came thundering in to skid to a halt right in front of her.

 

For a long moment all Sansa could do was gaze up at her, frozen. She slowly climbed off the horse, eyes on Sansa all the while, and then slowly walked forward until they were just a few feet apart. “Sansa,” she breathed, and they both let go at once, coming together so hard that they fell to a heap on the ground. Snow was soaking into Sansa’s cloak and making her shiver, but Arya was hugging her so hard that she could barely breathe. She never wanted to let go.

 

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed into Arya’s hair. “I’m sorry, Arya, I’m so sorry.”

 

There were voices all around, and then Jon’s cut sharply through all of them. “What is the meaning of this?”

 

Arya wrenched her face from Sansa’s neck and dragged them both to their feet, refusing to let go of Sansa’s hand. Sansa saw Jon freeze halfway down the steps, and then he was running down them, tripping over the last step in his haste. He picked both girls right up as he reached them, and he was crying too, they were all crying, but Arya was smiling and Jon was holding them against his chest and Sansa just clung to her family as tightly as she could.

 

**

 

The Grey Keep came alive as word spread throughout. _The other Stark girl has come home,_ they whispered. _Where did she come from? Where has she been?_

Sansa was reluctant to let go of her little sister, and Arya clearly felt the same by the way she clutched Sansa and Jon’s hands in her own the whole way into the Grey Keep. She stood between them as the Northern lords filed into the hall, half of them ready for battle, the other half rubbing sleep from their eyes. All of them were in their nightclothes, but no one seemed to notice anything but Arya Stark. They all took their seats at the tables, and when everyone was present, Arya spoke. “My name is Arya Stark,” she said, unnecessarily in Sansa’s opinion, but several of the lords instantly became more awake, and Lady Mormont walked forward to the front to get a better look. “I apologize for the lateness of mine and my company’s arrival, but we were too close by nightfall to stop. I had heard that my brother ruled Winterfell, and I…I had to see him.”

 

“I am sure that you all have many questions for my sister,” Jon said, bringing their attention to him. “But I think those can be saved for the morning. We will meet at noon tomorrow, if it is agreeable to you all. Introductions will be made then, and explanations will be given, I am sure.” Arya nodded. “I’m sorry that you’ve all been woken so late; you may return to your chambers.”

 

As quickly as they’d come in (which hadn’t been quickly at all), they filed out, muttering among themselves and casting looks back at Arya, and then the group of men who had accompanied her. Arya was calm under their eyes, but Sansa could feel her uncertainty in how tightly she twined their fingers. Lady Mormont was the only one to come to them. “I hope you had a safe journey here, Lady Arya,” she said. “My name is Lady Lyanna, of House Mormont.”

 

Arya bowed her head. “I heard that you were one of the first to declare for our house against the Boltons. Thank you for offering your support.”

 

“The North remembers,” Lady Mormont told her. “I look forward to speaking more with you, Lady Stark.”

 

“And I you.” Arya smiled a little, and the little lady followed the other men out.

 

At last, they were alone with Tormund, Ser Davos, and Arya’s companions. One of them finally came forward in front of the others, and Sansa instantly recognized him as Ironborn. “My name is Harwell,” he said, bowing his head. “Your lady sister chose us herself to bring her home.”

 

“You aren’t all Ironborn,” Sansa said.

 

Arya let go, and turned to face her brother and sister. “There’s a lot we need to talk about,” she began, “but I’ll start with this: I’m here because Daenerys Targaryen allowed me to travel home with her army. She seeks to take the Iron Throne, and now that I’ve declared myself as a Stark, the whole of Westeros will know that she has a Stark’s support. There are things she promised me, but she sent me home so that you would know that I was never a hostage.” She paused to let that sink in, and the corner of her mouth twitched in amusement, presumably at the looks on their faces.

 

“Daenerys Targaryen…” Jon’s brow furrowed. “The maester at Castle Black was a Targaryen, the last living son of his father Maekar. I gave him leave to go to Essos to find her, but I never dreamed she was truly alive. Her story is simply…”

 

“A story?” When he nodded, Arya shook her head. “She’s real. I’ve met her. I swore fealty to her, in part because I wanted to be sure that if I ever found you again, I wanted our safety guaranteed.”

 

“And your…traveling companions?” Sansa kept her tone polite, but they were an odd, unfamiliar mix. Besides the Ironborn, she knew none of them.

 

Arya looked back at them. “I chose Harwell, Caleb, and Cray myself, from the Ironborn army. These four are Unsullied—” she gestured to the four men that stood stiffly at attention, “—and the last are Dothraki horse warriors.” She was grinning outright now, clearly enjoying the shock she had caused. But in another moment, she turned serious. “I know it’s a lot at once.”

 

“It seems we’ve all been through a lot,” Jon said, “but there will be time to talk more in the morning. I’m sure you’re exhausted,” he added to the group behind Arya. “There aren’t any ready chambers for you…”

 

“It’s warm enough in here for us,” Harwell said. “I’m sure we could make do.”

 

“We will sleep here as well,” one of the Unsullied agreed.

 

Arya spoke in what Sansa could only assume was an Essos language to one of the Dothraki, who quickly spoke to the other men. He looked at Jon and nodded. “We sleep here,” he grunted. They began to unroll their bedding immediately, having brought it in from the horses straight away. After a respectful nod, the Ironborn followed suit, and the Unsullied saluted Arya before moving to the far corner, furthest from the fire. Sansa blinked in confusion at how efficiently they moved, but Arya paid them no more attention. “Don’t make me choose between the two of you,” she said. “Is—is Mother and Father’s room made up?”

  
“My room now,” Sansa admitted. “Jon insisted.”

 

Arya nodded. “Well, let’s go then. I don’t…I don’t want to be apart from either of you tonight. Please.” She had seemed so tall just a moment ago, telling them about Daenerys Targaryen, but now Sansa saw the little girl that she had been back in King’s Landing, so long ago.

 

Jon smiled and stepped forward to wrap an arm around her. “Come on, little sister.” Arya held out her hand for Sansa, and she took it gratefully. Part of her still couldn’t believe that Arya was here, wrapped in furs, and feeling her fingers slot solidly between her own made it more real. They ascended to the Lord’s chamber together, and when Arya had borrowed nightclothes from Sansa, they burrowed under the furs of the huge bed and huddled together, Arya in the middle.


End file.
